Page 14 of The Chef and the Countess

“Wait, can you sit with me? I would love the company. I have had no one to talk to for weeks. Well, longer, really. Oh, do stay. Please.” However, she had the notion that Mr. Liam Hallahan wasn’t much for conversation.

Liam looked toward the door as if trying to craft an excuse to depart. Then he glanced at her. “A few minutes,” he ground out as he pulled the chair over to the bed and sat on it.

Celia sliced into her ham. “The most inviting smells are coming from your kitchen. What are you making?” she asked brightly.

He pointed to the food. “It is cold?”

“Not at all.” She took a sip of tea. “Even this is still warm. You must have sprinted up the stairs. So, what are you cooking?”

“Beef stew.”

Carrying on a conversation with this man will be a challenge. “Is your restaurant open?”

He folded his arms. “Not until noon.”

“Enya says your place turns into a pub and gaming room at night. How fascinating. Do you run that, too?” Celia took another bite of the egg. “This is delicious. How did you get the edges so crispy?”

“I cook the eggs in rendered bacon fat and baste the edges with a few drops of olive oil.”

“Olive oil? From the Mediterranean? I didn’t think it was used for cooking.”

“Not so much here in Great Britain. Other countries use it. Olive oil gives the eggs crispy edges. The previous owner of this place used olive oil to lubricate the meat grinder. I cook the eggs on high heat and baste them with hot fat. That’s the trick.”

Celia smiled. So, to get him to talk—mention food. “How did you learn about cooking with olive oil?”

“I read it in a cookbook.”

“Do you run the pub?”

“No. I have a night manager, Fiona. Her room is across the hall. I’m finished work at six or sometimes earlier.”

Celia could listen to Liam talk all day. His deep voice was rich, like decadent chocolate, with that barely-there lyrical Irish lilt. “Do you serve food at night?”

“No, not usually. If food is left from luncheon, we sometimes offer it.”

Celia took a bite of toast. “That is very clever. Why waste food?” Celia pointed to the window. “Isn’t it a glorious day? Look at that winter sunshine. There is not a cloud in the sky. I cannot wait to recover so I can go for a walk and explore—when I’m not working, of course.”

Liam’s eyebrows shot skyward. “How can you be so blasted cheerful?”

She met his gaze frankly. “Because it is a lovely day. I believe in positive thinking. Smile, and let people know you feel that way. Even at the most horrible times of my life, I tried to stay away from brooding thoughts.”

He shot to his feet. “If you’re done, I’ll take the tray. Someone will come to check on you after the luncheon rush.”

Celia’s smile disappeared. “Oh. I had hoped you might visit again. You do take a break at some point, I assume?”

He nodded as he picked the tray off her lap. She had all but licked the plate clean.

“Why not come and chat?” she asked, giving him another inviting smile.

Liam looked at her incredulously, as if he couldn’t believe she would make such a request.

“Maybe. Try to rest.” Liam turned on his heel and departed, closing the door behind her.

Celia fluffed her pillows and lay prone, bringing the blankets and quilt to her chin. As she drifted off to sleep, images of Liam at a stove cooking her eggs filled her thoughts. What woman wouldn’t want a handsome man making her a meal? She fell asleep with a smile on her face.